


We're trying for something that's already found us

by rosa_himmelblau



Series: The Roadhouse Blues [27]
Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Sometimes depression is catching.
Series: The Roadhouse Blues [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069713





	We're trying for something that's already found us

"I had a dream last night,” Vinnie said into his coffee cup, and yawned. He'd only been up a little while and he wasn't awake yet; he was slouched at the kitchen table like he might just put his head down and start snoring. "I was driving on the PCH, and I saw you in a car in the next lane."

Sonny didn't say anything; he was standing at the counter, cracking hard-boiled eggs to make egg salad. He hated peeling eggs, and he didn't much like egg salad, so he took Vinnie's coffee cup away from him and put the bowl of eggs in his hands.

"You want me to take the shells off?" Vinnie asked, like he'd never seen a hard-boiled egg before in his life.

"Unless you can think of something better to do with 'em." Sonny had already peeled the onions he needed; now he started quartering them and feeding them into the cuisinart.

"Are you making egg salad?" Vinnie asked. He sounded ridiculously happy at the idea. Sonny refused to look at him, because if he looked at him—

Nobody should be this happy over egg salad, for God's sake. Sonny looked at him and smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, I'm making egg salad. That's the most boring dream I've ever heard. What were you doing on the Pacific Coast Highway?"

"I dunno. Just driving. It wasn't boring, I didn't know you were alive, and I looked over and there you were, in a red sixty-six Mustang convertible, an' I was just stunned. Then you took a shot at me."

Entirely against his will, Sonny laughed. "I wouldn't mind having a Mustang convertible, but not red. And not thirty years old. Was that the whole dream?"

"All I remember." Vinnie was eating one of the eggs. Sonny pointedly took the bowl away from him. "Sorry," Vinnie said, grabbing it back.

"Maybe that was the highway patrol last night," Sonny said.

"The highway patrol?"

Sonny shrugged. "I dreamed about helicopters hovering overhead. They don't like you shooting people on their streets. Maybe they followed me outta your dream." Vinnie had gone very still. Sonny watched him, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What? That was a joke."

"I know."

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Vinnie banged an egg against the table, banged it too hard. This was about something Sonny didn't remember. Vinnie always got like this about things he didn't remember.

"Don't smash 'em up 'til they're peeled," he said with a deliberate lack of inflection. "Unless you suddenly like shell in your egg salad, because I am not picking it out for you.”

"Sorry," Vinnie mumbled again, making Sonny want to stab him with the knife.

"What about the helicopter?" Sonny asked.

"Nothing," Vinnie said again, but when Sonny stared at him, he finally looked up from the stupid fucking eggs. "It just made me think of—the helicopters overhead, looking for us. They spotted the car and truck, that's how they found us." He was shaky again, and his eyes looked sick, and wet, but maybe that was the onions. They were awfully strong.

"So?" Sonny asked, wondering when they were ever going to get past this, when Vinnie was ever going to get past it, because God knew **he** didn't care about any of it. He got tired of worrying he'd say something that would make Vinnie go back into that hole he hid in, the one where all he said was _Sorry,_ or _Whatever you want._

"I just thought maybe you were dreaming about that."

"I used to drive the PCH all the time," Sonny said, not adding the unspoken _before you got here._ Except, that hadn't been his dream, that had been Vinnie's, and Vinnie was looking at him funny. "Traffic helicopters hovering overhead," he elaborated. "It was **my** dream, who says you get to say what it means?"

"Yeah, you're right," Vinnie said. Sonny wanted to smack him one.

"Hurry up with those, it's getting late." Sonny had all the other ingredients mixed together and was just waiting for the eggs Vinnie was peeling at a snail's speed.

Vinnie frowned. "Are we in a hurry?" he asked, in that nervous way that drove Sonny crazy. He acted like if he said the wrong thing, Sonny would do something terrible to him, which was bad enough, but he also acted like Sonny was trying to trick him into saying the wrong thing, which was paranoid.

"We're going out," Sonny said.

Vinnie didn't say anything. He was afraid to say anything. Sonny couldn't figure out what the hell he was afraid of. Not of getting hit, Sonny hit him all the time, and if he did it enough, Vinnie would get with it and start to hit back. It wasn't being punched he was afraid of, it was words. If Sonny yelled at him, he didn't yell back, he cringed, and if Sonny asked him right now what the hell was the matter with him, Vinnie would stare into that bowl of eggs and say _nothing, nothing, I'm sorry, nothing's wrong._ Somehow he'd missed the part about it being sticks and stones being what broke your bones, and names not hurting you—not that Sonny ever called him names. Or hit him with sticks, or stones, for that matter. Sonny didn't know **what** was hurting him.

At least he'd finished peeling the eggs, even if he was just sitting there, looking at them.

"It's gonna rain," Vinnie said, meaning he didn't want to go out.

"Yeah, well, you're drip-dry," Sonny said implacably. "Besides, we'll be in the car."

"I thought you wanted to watch the game this afternoon."

"We'll be back by then," Sonny said, wondering just where they were going. There wasn't any place he wanted to go, he just wanted to go out. "Maybe we'll go to a bar, watch the game there. Will you give me the damn eggs so I can finish this?"

Vinnie handed him the bowl.

"Maybe I could—"

"Go get dressed," Sonny said, and before Vinnie could finish whatever excuse he'd started, or come up with a different one, "You're coming with me. I want you to come with me," he added more kindly.

Vinnie nodded, and went to get dressed.

Sonny finished making the egg salad. He started to put it in the refrigerator, then changed his mind and got out a loaf of bread, and the lettuce crisper. He made up some sandwiches for Vinnie and wrapped them in aluminum foil; they could go for a drive and he could eat in the car. Maybe they'd cruise down the PCH; hell, maybe they'd go all the way to Mexico, Vinnie'd never been there.

Vinnie was back, dressed except for his shoes. He'd even shaved. He sat down to put his shoes on. Sonny watched him, and for no reason, he suddenly didn't want to go out anymore. What was the point?

"Don't bother," Sonny said.

Vinnie looked up. "What?"

"Don't bother with your shoes, we're not going anywhere. It's started to rain," he added, though it hadn't; the sky was looking a little bluer. Sonny picked up one of the aluminum-wrapped sandwiches and tossed it to Vinnie. "Here, eat a sandwich."


End file.
